


The Weight of Being Needed

by ThePlace



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Backstory, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Canon Compliant, Rated T for language, also the interpreter in this is the Old interpreter who they mentioned once and not the 12 year old, hes not a good dude in this ill warn yall now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-08-09 22:31:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20124901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePlace/pseuds/ThePlace
Summary: Indrid likes the picture he's painted of himself, the one where he's the selfless Seer who travelled to Earth on behalf of the court to save Sylvain.Too bad it's a lie.





	1. Gutterball

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had the first chapter written since around February but never did anything with it until my friend said they wanted to read the story so here we go! The first chapter is a set up chapter and then chapters two and three will be a mix of flashbacks and stuff set in the present. If you didn't already see the tag, this isn't canon compliant in the slightest and I use alot of my own headcanons for what I think Sylvain is like. I hope yall enjoy!!

“C’mon Duck!”

“Show ‘em who's boss!”

From where he stands, Duck shoots a quick glance behind him to Aubrey and Ned. “Quiet down, will ya? Gotta concentrate.”

For his part, Indrid remains silent, watching with undivided attention as Duck squares his shoulders, takes in a deep breath, and then surges forward as he brings back his right hand for the swing.

Now Indrid could look to the future to see the most likely outcome of this maneuver, but he doesn’t. Even Seer’s still like surprises.

And then Duck let’s go and they all watch as the bowling ball spins down the lane and knocks over every single pin with a satisfying crash.

“Yes!” Aubrey yells with a fist pump and Duck just laughs, rejoining the others on the couches. As he sits down, he picks up his beer in one hand and puts the other around Indrid’s shoulder.

Standing up for his turn, Barclay calls behind him over the sound of the other lodge residents also playing, “Where’d ya learn to bowl like that, Duck?”

And as Duck opens his mouth, Ned quickly cuts him off with a loud, “Nice try Barclay! Trying to learn our strategies to beat us? Not this time!”

Duck rolls his eyes. “Growing up there were basically four things to do ‘round here for fun. Go to one of the waterparks,” he begins counting off on his fingers. “Goof around in some abandoned building, goof around in bowling alley parking lot, or ya know, actually go bowling.” He takes a swig of beer. “Also worked here one summer, got fired too. Surprised Ms. Johnson even let me back in here.”

From her spot on the couch, Mama shrugs and a faint smiles plays on her lips. “Eh, Sally’s not gonna kick ya out, least not while I’m here.” She gestures around the room to the other sylphs currently bowling. “Even after all this, she still owes me a favor or two.”

Times like these, Indrid almost wishes he could take a peek into the past as well as the future because he’d really like to know what Mama could’ve possibly done to get Ms. Johnson to agree to let all the lodge residents come bowl after hours. Sure they promised to clean and lock up after themselves, but that’s still a big favor. He supposes he could ask, but Indrid has the feeling that he won’t get an answer from Mama, no foresight needed.

Now Indrid will be the first to say that he is already having a marvelous time. A break from looking towards the future to instead bask in the present is something he needed. In fact, the only futures he’s concerned with at the moment are whether Jake and Dani’s bowling skills can offset the complete lack of bowling prowess from himself and Barclay. 

Speaking of, Barclay takes that moment to hurl his bowling ball down the lane and straight into the gutter.

“Good try dude!” Jake yells encouragingly over the mix of some early 90s song blasting from the speakers and the rumble of the other bowlers. “You’ll get it next time.”

And to his credit, on the second time around, Barclay knocks down four pins and even though Duck, Aubrey, Ned, and Mama are all technically the competition, everyone cheers.

Next is Aubrey and she gets a quick kiss “For luck” from Dani before she stands up. 

“You havin’ fun?” Duck casually whispers in his ear to not draw attention to them. 

Indrid gives him a reassuring smile. “Indeed. Just taking in the moment.” He pauses for a second. “In fact, if there’s the opportunity, I would love to do this again.”

Duck’s smile is radiant when he says, “I think we can swing that. Hell I’ll even apologize to Ms. Johnson again if that’ll get us in here more often.”

Just as he’s about to go in for another kiss, Aubrey dabs over near the lane as she gets a spare “Beat that Indrid!” She yells as she does a run by to get high fives before getting a congratulatory kiss from Dani.

“I’ll certainly try,” he says as he stands up and makes his way over to the ball return. “No promises though.”

On the couch, Ned muses out loud, “Don’t you have a-” He tents his fingers. “-An unfair advantage? You can see the future, what’s stopping you from, oh I don’t know, looking ahead to see how to get the perfect score?”

“Well,” he begins as he picks up a deep red bowling ball. “I could certainly try. I could look into the future to see what distance I should start back to maximum my chances, see the probability of obtaining a strike if I let go of the ball at specific moments, even see how the oil patterns of the lane change from each set. However-” And then Indrid closes his eyes, breathes in and takes a few steps before letting the ball go. Immediately he turns so his back is to the lane and waits for the perfect timing. “That won’t change the fact I’m a terrible bowler.”

And upon saying that last word, the ball makes impact with a single pin which wobbles for a second before remaining completely upright.

Everyone loses it.

And as Indrid looks at everyone almost doubling over on the couches, their laughter drowning out the other bowlers, Indrid realises how much he’s missed having friends.

The second try goes just as well but its all good, especially with a little conciliatory kiss from Duck. “That was-” he attempts to stifle his laughter. “That was a mighty good try darlin’.”

“Oh hush,” Indrid teases back. “For my second time ever bowling, I think I’m doing a great job.”

Duck looks at him with so much love and fondness that Indrid’s heart skips a beat when he replies, “You really are.”

The night continues on, with Jake and Dani doing well enough to counteract how terrible Indrid and Barclay are so they can remain about neck and neck with Team Human. 

Mama’s just ended her turn and seriously, they were going to have to switch up the teams next time because she just got yet another strike. As he’s trying to think of the fairest way to split them up that doesn’t pit humans vs aliens, he’s interrupted as Mama sits down and says, “Hey Indrid, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Usually a question like this would send Indrid scrambling through the futures to try and figure out the question before it even leaves the askers lips, but tonight, Indrid really does want to focus on the present. “Yes?”

She picks at the label on the bottle she’s holding, her hands seemingly always needing to be doing something. “Well, I’m just curious if the court’s expecting you to pop on over there and give ‘em an update on your progress anytime soon.”

Indrid blinks. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession. This is normal, he quickly assures himself. Friends ask their friends about their jobs. Just a friendly inquiry, nothing more. He puts on a smile and pushes his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have a specific time I have to check in with the Court if that’s what you’re asking. I have their full confidence.”

He hopes that's the end of it. Partly because the worry that Mama knows more than she’s letting on keeps nagging at him . . .

Partly because he hates lying.

“Oh yeah, you were the court seer!” Jake says. “That’s rad!”

Glancing quickly at the screen displaying their scores, Indrid sees that his turn is still a few people away.“Yeah, it was certainly-” He pauses. “Rad.”

Indrid nearly sighs in relief when Duck comes back to his side. Unfortunately, he’s not fast enough to change the topic of conversation as suddenly, Dani is looking at him, her face hard to read. “So since you weren’t,” her grip on Aubrey’s hand tightens, “-Banished, you can go back and forth through the gate. You could . . . Maybe you could deliver messages to our families?”

Indrid becomes distinctly aware that the Sylphs in the lanes on either side of them have stopped talking and are watching him intently. “The Pine Guard goes every few months, can’t they do that?”

One of the lodge residents, a man who humans would call a werewolf, makes a face at his words and Indrid realises that his tone might have come off as dismissive.

“Not really,” Aubrey admits. “They’re pretty picky about where we go while we’re there. Like the castle’s okay, Heathcliff’s . . . cavern? I don’t know what it’s called, anyways, that’s open too. Besides that, we’re not really allowed to do much sightseeing.”

“I tried to go into one single shop for souvenirs and we practically had the entire army breathing down our necks,” Ned adds on with a huff. “Wasn’t like anyone would’ve believed where I got it anyway. Bunch of paranoid-”

Whatever Ned was going to say next is cut off by Jake Coolice of all people, looking at him with an unusually solemn face. “If you could just let our families know we’re okay, that’d be-” Indrid expects the next word to be ‘tubular’ or ‘wicked’ or some other slang, but instead, Jake just shrugs and says, “It would mean a lot.”

Behind his glasses, Indrid glances around at the twenty-eight people all staring at him, noting that now, not a single person in the whole building is bowling. The only sound comes from the static filled radio blasting out some song he’s never heard of. These faces, all of them reflect something back at him that cuts him down to the bone: Hope.

Hope that their parents will know they’re okay. Hope that their children will know that they haven’t stopped thinking of them. Hope that they can find out if their spouse is doing well without them. Hope that their friends can hear one last thing from them. Hope that Indrid will go back to Sylvain to deliver their messages.

“I’m-” He looks to Duck who squeezes his hand encouragingly. “I’m sorry I-”

He doesn’t have to finish his sentence for the hope in the room to go down like a moth swatted out of the air. He’s almost glad though, because he’s truly not sure if the next word out of his mouth would have been ‘Won’t” or ‘Can’t”.

Duck rubs his thumb against the back of his hand. “That’s alright darlin’,” he assures him, not asking a single question which Indrid will never be more thankful for. “Hey I think it’s your turn.”

He nods, looking away from where Jake and Dani are just staring at him, staring at him like everyone else in the room. Still, he stands up and makes his way over to the ball return, picking one up at random. The air in the room is thick and sluggish and with every breath he takes, it weighs him down more and more and more until he’s sure he’s too heavy to fly away. Indrid would do anything to make the others stop staring at him like he let them down, like . . . Like he failed them too.

He shakes his head as if that will dislodge the memories bubbling to the surface in his head. Just focus on bowling. He was having fun. Think about the fun. If he gets a strike he bets Duck will really be impressed. Just don’t think about-

And then a vision surges forward in his mind, despite his attempts to ignore them all night. He sees the bowling alley, not too far in the future at all, maybe ten or so seconds at most based on how the song playing in the vision is only one line ahead of the one playing in the present. For a moment, Indrid can’t figure out what’s so important about this vision. Everyone is still seated where they are now, no one’s talking and-

Then he hears it, a quiet murmur that he probably isn’t supposed to hear, said by someone he prays he doesn’t know, because if Aubrey or Mama or Ned or Barclay or Duck, god please let it not be Duck, says what's about to be said, he doesn’t know he’ll do and although he has ten seconds to prepare himself before he hears it in the present, it still hits him like a freight train.

“How can he be so _ selfish _?”

The bowling ball slips from his fingers and crashes to the ground with a sickening thud, the echoes of it’s grating roll drowning out the song playing. Everyone is frozen. No one speaks. Indrid’s breaths are too frequent. Or too far between. He can’t tell. His chest aches either way and everyone is staring at him and it's too hot and-

“Please excuse me.” He manages to get out before he starts walking as calmly as possible to the bathroom. If he runs, he’ll worry people, make them upset, ruin their night. 

He knows Duck is looking at him as he walks away, can see it in the futures he is now allowing to flood his mind. In the majority of the possibilities he can see, Duck will come look for him in the bathroom in two minutes, giving him time to gather himself up. It’s a kind thought, Duck is always so thoughtful like that.

However, Indrid saw how much fun Duck had been having, the stress from the recent weeks melting off him. How self-centered would he be to take Duck away from that to deal with Indrid’s problems that he should have gotten over decades ago. 

So instead, Indrid makes a sharp turn right outside the bathroom and heads straight for the exit, timing it so no one would be looking when he did. 

The cool night air and a sense of relief wash over Indrid as he steps outside. He doesn’t know where he’s going, doesn’t know where he wants to go. Just knows he doesn’t want to be here, ruining everyone’s time.

So he’s keeps walking.

And walking.

And walking.

And walking.

Usually he’d use this time walking through the cool night air to clear his head, but now he wants anything but. If he keeps flitting through futures, he won’t have to think about the things lurking on the edges of his mind. If he doesn’t stop thinking, he won’t have to think.

Does that make sense?

Indrid doesn’t care.

There are three futures where Mrs. Pearson catches a glimpse of Duck and Leo training outside their apartment complex while Antiques Roadshow is on commercial. Two of which they convince her it's nothing. One where they don't. He should let them know to be careful.

One future surfaces where Agent Stern comes back early from his search through the woods and can’t figure out where everyone at the lodge went. That ones fine. Unlikely and even if it does come to pass he’s sure someone can come up with a plausible lie. Well not Duck. But somebody.

Ten futures suddenly make themselves known to him where Jake accidentally spills an entire bottle of beer down Mama's shirt at the bowling alley. He starts crying in all of them. Mama's mad in none of them. Not surprising. He lets those visions drift away. Can't really do anything about that now, can he?

A few futures begin to pop up in his head, all with slight differences so discerning which one is most likely is difficult. They all concern Ranger Juno Divine dealing with some angry hikers. Maybe if more futures make themselves known, he can begin to narrow down which one is most likely to come to pass. He just has to-

And then all at once the futures shift.

Mrs. Pearson peeking through her blinds warps into Aubrey peering through a car window into the darkness beyond.

The quiet click of Agent Stern’s shoes as he wanders the empty halls of Amnesty Lodge morphs into the steady drum of Ned’s fingers against his steering wheel, his eyes never wavering from the road.

The beer stains on Mama's shirt become smears of dirt and chlorophyll of Dani's overalls from when she had tended to her garden that morning. She picks at one of the flecks of dirt absentmindedly as the street lights zoom by.

Juno’s voice, whose patient tone is slowly draining from each word, saying “There’s no need to worry mam” are at once replaced with Duck sitting in the backseat of the lincoln, murmuring out, “I’m just worried if he’s okay.”

And then none of those things matter as the dark road Indrid has wandered down is illuminated in the blinding white light of the headlights of Ned’s Lincoln cresting the hill behind him.

Well . . . There goes his plan of not ruining everyone’s night.

He decides to stop and wait for the car to pull up alongside him. Aubrey is in the passenger seat with Duck and Dani in the back. Through the window, Indrid can see how Duck’s eyebrows are knit together and his mouth forms into a frown. Indrid gives a small wave. The worry does not leave Duck’s face.

“Hey Indrid!” Aubrey calls, although its muffled through the glass. “Oh, uhhh, give me a sec!” She begins looking down at the car door, her hands wavering as she glances around. “Ned where’s the button to roll down the window?”

“It’s not on the door it's in the center console. Here let me.”

Indrid watches as Ned flips open the compartment between the driver and passenger seats and hit a button, only for the driver side window to start rolling down.

“Oops, here just hold on-”

“Forget the window, just open the door and let me out, alright?” Duck calls from the backseat.

Indrid knows before Aubrey's hand ever touches the door that it won't work, but before he can say anything, an erratic thumping noise starts as she jiggles the handle.

“It won’t open!”

“Babe is the lock still on?”

“I don't think so!”

“Maybe the child locks on?” Duck offers.

“I don’t think they would of had children-”

Aubrey spins around in her seat. “You don't think they had children in the 1950s? What do you think they did before then, Ned?!”

“I don’t think they would’ve had children _ in the front seat!” _ Ned finishes, throwing his hands in the air. “Kids these days . . .”

“Ned you’re like 40!”

All the while, Indrid is still just standing on the side of the road, watching this little scene of contained chaos and smiling to himself despite his sour mood. Finally though, Aubrey manages to escape from the front seat, allowing Duck to squeeze out from the back in a flail of limbs.

“Are you alright?” Duck asks as he walks up to Indrid. “I thought you had gone to the bathroom but then none of us could find you and we didn’t know which way you could of gone and-”

Indrid adjusts his glasses and offers Duck a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry to have worried you. I just wanted to get some air. You know, go on a nice evening stroll. Humans love those, don’t they?”

“Yeah but most folks tell someone where they’re goin’ and don’t try and walk a couple miles back home in the dark _ in bowling shoes_. I mean-” He glances down the back road they’ve found themselves on. “How’d you even manage to get so far out here in such a short period of time?”

“Mmmmmm, long legs?” He gestures down, hoping to get a laugh. He doesn’t. And just like that, Indrid once again feels heavy. Weighed down by the fact that the others are still waiting in the car for him, crushed by lies he’s told and has yet to tell, just . . . Heavy. “I’m sorry,” he breathes out on the tail-end of a sigh. “It wasn’t my intent to ruin your night.”

“Hey none of that now. You didn’t ruin anything.” He pauses and offers his hand. “Wanna go home?”

And Indrid just nods and takes Duck’s hand like it's the only thing he can do. Once again, they shuffle around in the car, Aubrey sitting in the back with Dani and letting Indrid take the front. Usually he’d want to sit next to Duck, but now he just needs room to breathe, to look forward without worrying if the others are staring at the frown on his face.

“So,” Ned starts in the silence. “Shall I be dropping everyone back at their respective homes?”

“Yeah we gotta get back to Dr. Bonkers,” Aubrey says. “Still can’t believe Mama wouldn’t let us bring him bowling.”

Dani laughs. “What would he have even done at the bowling alley?”

“He would've made a great Team Human mascot and you know it.”

The car settles into a steady conversation as they drive but Indrid wouldn’t call it relaxed in the slightest. The rest of them are trying to walk on glass around him, worried that the crunch under their feet will set him off. He can’t help but wonder what’s going through their heads. Are they worried? Or maybe they’re bitter that Indrid just had to go and ruin their night. No. That’s not right. Duck assured him that wasn’t the case and Duck can’t lie. He’s fine. Everything’s fine. No need to worry.

_ Unless they do truly think he’s selfish? _

“-ound good?”

_ At least one person at the lodge thinks he’s selfish. _

“Hey are y-”

_ Maybe more. _

“Pull the car ov-”

_ Maybe he’s just a selfish person to his core. _

“-you hear me?”

_ Maybe he was right. _

“Indrid.”

And then there’s a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to the ground and Indrid doesn’t even feel like the next words out of his mouth are his. Just some stranger’s who he’s parroting.

“I wasn’t sent here.”

The car is silent. In the rearview mirror, Indrid can see the wide eyes and mouths of his friends. Next to him, Ned is looking at him with his head tilted just slightly. They’re pulled over on the side of the same road they picked him up on. He hadn’t even noticed they stopped.

“The ministers- They didn’t send me,” He continues because maybe if he forces the words out of his chest after so many years of them weighing down every nook and cranny, he’ll be able to breathe easy again. “My mission to come here to find a way to save Sylvain, that was all a lie. I’m sorry.”

He keeps looking forward even as Duck’s hand rubs soothing circles on his shoulder, even as Dani says, “Indrid, there’s no shame in being banished. Everyone at the lodge was. No one’s gonna judge you for that.”

A single breath in. 

“I wasn’t banished either.”

The crickets outside seem to hold their songs, making the silence of the car all the more crushing.

“I ran away.”

And behind his glasses, Indrid closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the looks of disappointment or judgement on the other’s faces. Doesn’t know what he’ll do if he does.

“But . . .” Dani starts. “But even when I was there people talked about how you were away on a mission, I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“Probably to save face. Doesn’t look too good to admit that your only court seer escaped, hmm?”

“Escaped?” Duck asks, the hand on his shoulder drawing back for just a second in surprise.

“Yes. Escaped. Or maybe that’s too dramatic a word. You know me, always one for the theatrics. I- Maybe it’ll be easier if I provide a bit of context.”

He can hear Ned shifting in the driver's seat. “You’re under no obligation to go dredging up your past if you don’t want.”

“No I-” He’s never told the story before, done his best to never think of it. But now . . . Now he wants to tell it. Feels like he’ll go under if he doesn’t. “I want you all to know. Maybe it’ll help explain why I can’t go back to Sylvain.

Another deep breath as they all sit in silence on the side of this empty road, the engine rumbling lowly beneath him. Well, here goes nothing . . .

“So I became the official Court Seer three days after my sixth birthday, and well, it didn’t start off too bad.”

But by Sylvain it would get there.


	2. 104 Seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The flooding shall befell the northeast quadrant of the city in two months and two days time. It will be contained to that section of the city and with reinforcements, we will completely avoid damage and casualties. My visions confirm-”
> 
> The Interpreter narrows his eyes. “ Whose visions?”
> 
> Faltering for a second, Indrid takes a breath. “Pardon. Her visions confirm this.”
> 
> “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with chapter two! The format will be going back and forth between Indrid's time on the Court and him in the present recounting all of this to Ned, Aubrey, Dani and Duck.

“Hey there buddy, how’s it going?”

Indrid doesn’t look up. Doesn’t stop scribbling on the sheets of paper in front of him either. “Good.”

His caretaker, a woman named Margaret, makes a small humming noise and crouches down next to him. “Whatcha drawing there? Looks _ really _cool!”

Huffing, Indrid moves his drawing out of view and props himself up with his lower two arms. He may only be seven, but he knows when he’s being talked down to. His mother never used to talk to him like this. “It’s not done."

In the doorway, the three ministers, Woodbridge, Hexel, and Knox, watch on. Margaret glances back at them before smiling at Indrid. “Well I bet it’ll be great!” Someone scoffs, but is immediately shushed. He doesn’t have to look at his visions to know it was Woodbridge. “But uh, about your drawings- I was wondering if you could explain them to me?”

Indrid glances between Margaret and the papers she pulls from her back pocket.“Why?”

“Well,” She searches for the right words. “We’re having the tiniest bit of trouble telling what you drew. Will you help me?

Grabbing one of the pieces of paper, Indrid points to the stick figure on the page that he counts among his finest work. “That’s Miss Hexel. Don’t you see her ears?”

Margaret squints at the paper. “Okay” she finally says, the word too long in her mouth. “Yes, I see it. Well what about this one-” She shuffles the papers around and shows Indrid one of a stick figure lying on the ground with red scribbles blocking his face. “Who’s this?”

“Woodbridge.”

The other ministers try to muffle their laughter and Indrid swears he hears Knox whisper, “Told you it was you.”

“And what’s the red scribble over his face? Is the minister in danger?”

Glancing away, Indrid goes back to drawing, bringing up his wings to hide himself. He should’ve hidden the picture better . . .

Margaret sighs. “We’ve talked about this. No drawing for fun. You’re only supposed to draw the visions you see in your head, remember?”

“I know.” His voice comes out smaller than he is.

“Then why do you keep doing this?”

He keeps scribbling across his page. He could tell her how Woodbridge snapped at him to stop drawing the Heart of Sylvain with sunglasses on. Or how all his dumb visions are boring anyway and the ones that aren’t are so scary that all he wants to do is fly home and get a big hug from his mom and dad..

He doesn’t say any of that though.

Instead he just mumbles out. “I don’t know.”

Another sigh. “Hey. Look at me?” He glances over to her, sees that the ministers have already left. “You’re the Court Seer now. Everyone is counting on you and you don’t want to let them down, do you?”

He shakes his head, eyes downcast and wings drooped.

“We need you so we can know when bad things are gonna happen and if you’re not using the gift Sylvain gave you, then we might not know and people might get hurt. You don’t want that, do you?”

Another shake of his head.

“Good. Now, why don’t you get cleaned up for dinner, hmm?” Margaret stands up and brushes the dust from her dress. “I heard the cook just might be making you’re favorite tonight!”

Then as Indrid struggles into his robes, none of his four arms really helping the situation, he does exactly as Margaret said to do and focuses in on the few scattered futures dancing across his mind.

And if Indrid uses those visions to figure out the best place to hide his drawings of the heart of Sylvain in sunglasses or of dumb mister Woodbridge getting a bowl of soup dumped on his head, then nobody really needs to know, do they?

* * *

The car is quiet for a few moments before Aubrey speaks up.

“So is putting sunglasses on inanimate objects just something that like, transcends planets?”

Although the others can’t see it, Indrid smiles. “I suppose so.”

Maybe in a different timeline they keep up these easy light questions, maybe start having a fun time so Indrid can make up for ruining their night, but as Duck opens his mouth, Indrid knows that this is not the case for this timeline. “Whose idea was it to start you off bein’ the Court Seer that young? I mean, couldn’t the last Court Seer hold off on their retirement for a sec or something so you could learn how to tie your shoes ‘fore you went on to have a job with the court.”

“I didn’t wear shoes back then.”

“Ya know what I meant.”

Adjusting the vents so they were blasting hot air right at him, Indrid smiles, a wry thing. “I do, yes. But to answer your question, there was no previous Seer. Or well- There was one. I believe her tenure was mmm, a thousand years before my own.”

“Think is was fifteen hundred years actually.”

Indrid catches Dani’s gaze in the rearview mirror and she shrugs. “I had to learn about the Court in school.”

For a moment he almost wants to ask Dani what they taught her about the Court- About him, but he decides against it. It was probably mostly lies and half-truths anyways. “Ah, fifteen hundred years then. You have to understand that seers are extremely rare- One only appears every thousand or so years. You can imagine how exstatic my parents were when my powers began to manifest on my sixth birthday.”

Ned tents his fingers. “Were your parents aware before they sent you away that your only friends during your tenure were going to be a perpetually irate ghost, a distant librarian, and a goat?” 

And despite the terrible night he’s been having, Indrid can’t stop himself from laughing. “An apt description if I do say so. And at the time my parents alerted the court of my powers, Janelle and Vincent were not yet ministers and as for Woodbridge . . . Well I don’t think either of us would go so far as to say we were friends.”

“Oh so he’s always been an asshole!” Aubrey exclaims and again, Indrid laughs.

“Yes well, I think he also had it particularly out for me as he blamed for his death but-” He shrugs. “Such is life.”

A silence returns to the car and it's at that moment as Indrid peaks at the futures that he realises your co-workers faulting you for their untimely demise is not a normal thing. 

Huh. 

“He blamed you? Why? You didn’t like-” Aubrey makes a slicing motion across her neck. “You know?”

“No I didn’t kill him. He was crushed by a cart, but I believe he holds the thought that I should’ve foreseen and prevented it. In all fairness, I was nine at the time. But still . . .”

“That’s not fair on you, now is it?” Ned drums his hands against the steering wheel, looking at the winding road in front of them. “Can’t go around blaming yourself for something you had no control of, especially if you were just a little kid . . . moth . . . bug thing. It wasn’t your fault.”

Indrid offers him a smile, although he’s not too sure those words were entirely meant for him. "Thank you. Luckily Woodbridge never aired his grievances outloud and if he had, I’m quite sure Janelle and Vincent would have come to my defense. Possibly The Interpreter too, depending upon his mood.”

Now whether or not The Interpreter’s defense would have been genuine or just something else to placate him . . .

“So you, Janelle and Vincent were buddies?” Duck asks.

Indrid thinks upon that for a moment. “Yes. Yes I like to think we were. As for the rest of the Court . . .”

* * *

“Court Seer Cold, are you-”

“-Paying attention?” Indrid finishes for The Interpreter drawing his mouth into a wide grin. “Why of course. Do you really think I wouldn’t listen with _ rapt _ attention at our discussions on the impending flooding of the city?” He maintains eye contact as he brings all four hands to his chest in mock hurt. “Interpreter you wound me. Especially considering it is _ my _ reports that have brought this issue to light!”

Woodbridge manges to tap his fingers against the wood of their meeting table despite being spectral. _ Ghosts. _ Indrid still doesn’t understand them. “Reports that you were supposed to submit yesterday, _ Cold _.”

“Yes well, maybe I would’ve been able to submit them on time if I wasn’t forced to transcribe all my drawings into handwritten reports. I mean-” His mandibles click together once. “What even was the point of all those drawing tutors if you won’t even accept any of my drawings?”

“From what Minister Knox told me before I took up this position, your handwriting used to be abhorrent.” Janelle doesn’t look up from her book as she speaks. “It was either improve your drawing skills or try to decipher your scribbling.”

“Pardon me for lacking the proper motor skills at the tender age of seven.”

Vincent rubs a hand through his beard and mumbles out. “How could your handwriting be worse than it is now? Four arms yet no dominant hand . . .”

The Interpreter clears his throat. “As I was saying, Court Seer Cold- How confident are you in your report?”

“Oh one-hundred percent confident. The flooding shall befell the northeast quadrant of the city in two months and two days time. It will be contained to that section of the city and with reinforcements, we will completely avoid damage and casualties. My visions confirm-”

The Interpreter narrows his eyes. “_ Whose _ visions?”

Faltering for a second, Indrid takes a breath. “Pardon. _ Her _ visions confirm this.”

“Good.”

He’s not sure how long it will take him to get used to the newest of The Interpreter’s decrees. Up until recently, Indrid’s visions were just that- _ Indrid’s Visions _. However, The Interpreter decided that this was discounting Sylvain’s hand in it all. So now they are not Indrid’s visions. They are Sylvain’s visions that she is so graciously gifting him.

He is nothing more than the messenger.

The meeting continues on, Indrid never once pausing as he maps out the possible futures in his sketchbook. Finally, The Interpreter stands from the table, adjusts his robes and nods to his assembled court. “That is enough for today. Vincent, please see to it that the guards are dispatched to southeastern section of the wall. Janelle, if you would please start work on the disguise enchantments. Woodbridge, please begin the preparations for the Harvest Festival, and Seer Cold? I need you to have those new reports to me by dawn tomorrow. Alright, you are all dismissed.”

With that, they all stand, ensuring they bow to The Interpreter before they depart, Indrid going right back to drawing once he dips low to the floor.

“If any of you care to join me, I think I will be going down to the Crystal Gardens now,” Vincent offers as the four of them gather their things after The Interpreter has left.

Sticking his nose in the air, Woodbridge replies, “I have _ already _ visited the Lady’s Heart today. It is the first thing I do every morning as to put anything else before our Lady is blasphemy in my-”

“Yeah I’m in,” Indrid interrupts, not even having to look up from his sketchbook to know Woodbridge is glowering at him. He does however catch how the corner of Janelle’s lips just barely tug up into a smile as she agrees to join them too.

“You just love pushing his buttons, don’t you Cold?” Vincent asks as they make their way outside, a volley of guards walking in step around them. 

“The Interpreter or Woodbridge?”

“Both,” Vincent and Janelle respond in time.

Laughing, Indrid tears out a finished sketch and slips it into one of the many pockets of his robes. “Well if I didn’t, the only thing I’d have to do around here is watch the futures all day. Can’t blame me for looking for a bit of fun, hmm?”

Vincent shakes his head before motioning towards the guards to open the main doors. As the bright light of Sylvain’s sun shines down on them, Indrid winces and shields his eyes. When was the last time he went outside? Couldn’t have been yesterday because he had been cooped up in his chambers all day meticulously picking through every future concerning the flooding at the request of The Interpreter. Was it the day before? No. He hadn’t left his room either that day, had to finish up those reports. Maybe three days ago . . .

The sudden hush that falls over the line of Sylphs waiting for their turn to touch the heart of Sylvain draws Indrid out of his thoughts. He’s never gotten used to this part of the job- the people staring at him like he was some sort of spectacle, some afraid that one wrong move would cause Indrid to prophesize their demise. Despite this, he still returns the waves that are directed his way and smiles at the children glancing at him. They immediately hide their faces in the folds of their parents clothes.

“Cold, you’re scaring the children,” Janelle states, not looking at him and also giving curt nods to the crowd all the while.

“Hmm, are you sure it’s me they’re scared of?” He pauses as Janelle places her hands upon the Heart of Sylvain for just a second. “Maybe they’re worried you’ll turn them into yet another scarf for you to wear around?”

The glare she gives him has no real heat behind it and Indrid lets out a small laugh before he steps forward and places a single hand onto the crystals face and takes a moment to simply bask in the feeling of a light warmth slowly wash through him. Taking in a deep breath and sending a silent thanks to Sylvain, Indrid turns back around to the others. “Well, while this was a lovely excursion, I really should be getting back to work.”

Vincent nods. “As should we all.”

They continue chatting as the guards escort them all back inside, topics of conversation ranging from the progress of Janelle’s students to how Vincent is convinced his soldiers are planning a surprise party for him (They are. Indrid has viewed a dozen or so futures of Vincent trying to control himself when he opens up his gifts of Earth contraband).

And as they come closer and closer to parting ways for the night, Indrid tries to think of some fun story _ he _ can tell, an interesting thing he did today, something Janelle and Vincent would find humorous.

_ What had he done today? _

“See you both tomorrow.”

_ He already told them about his visions . . . _

Already getting out her tome, Janelle nods and waves absentmindedly. “Yes of course, see you tomorrow.”

_ What else is there to tell? _

And it’s only once the twin footfalls no longer echo off the stone of the castle hallways does Indrid even realise that they’re gone.

Well . . . Certainly he’ll do something interesting tomorrow. 

He just can’t see it yet.

* * *

“They really made ya sit down and write out reports?” Duck asks, leaning forward as much as he can. “Gotta admit, can’t really imagin’ you doin’ that.”

Aubrey nods. “All I’m imagining is you giving us some fifty-page report on the funicular crashing when we first met. Like ‘yeah you all have six minutes to stop this disaster, so I hope you all have good reading comprehension’.”

“Yes they certainly were pedantic, but The Interpreter absolutely refused to even spare a glance at any of my drawings. He had many thoughts about how I needed to perform my duties and well, you don’t really go against The Interpreter. Or should I say, you’re not supposed to. I did. But I’m afraid I’m getting ahead of myself.”

Ned shifts in his seat as he looks over to Indrid. “Isn’t that your whole-” He motions at him. “Song and dance? Getting ahead of yourself?”

Despite seeing that coming, Indrid laughs. “Why yes I suppose it is.”

“You know,” Dani speaks up from the back, her voice low. “It’s- Well it’s weird I guess. Hearing about the ministers like this. I learned about them in school, all the duties they perform and I guess just learning what they’re like when they’re not doing all that . . . It’s different I guess.” She sighs and Indrid knows what's coming even though he wishes he didn’t. “I only met them once, and well . . . That was enough for me.”

A passing car fills the Lincoln with light. Indrid can only imagine how his glasses shine a brilliant and bloody red in that moment.

“Ned, would you mind if we started heading back to Duck and mine’s apartment? There’s a slight chance of Sheriff Owens coming to see what exactly we are doing parked on the side of the road at this time of night and I think it would be best to avoid that future, hmm?”

Also if Ned is driving, he won’t be able to look at Indrid as he tells the next part of the story and Indrid himself won’t be able to crawl out the window to escape the conversation.

Well he could. But all those futures end rather badly.

Without argument, Ned starts up the Lincoln, the low rumble of the engine soothing as they start to drive down the dark road. For a few moments, Indrid remains silent. He could just skip this part of the story. And sure, maybe some parts later won’t make sense, and yes he’d be lying to his friends, to Duck, but maybe that’s the preferable future? He doesn’t know- Too afraid to even peak at the futures incase it all goes terribly wrong. 

But no.

He needs to tell them and it probably won’t be pretty. But he needs to.

Indrid takes a breath. “Before I recount the beginning of the end of my time in the Court, there is one more story I need to tell. I wouldn’t call it a good story. In fact, it may be one of the things I regret the most. I can say I didn’t know better, that I have come to understand the abhorent nature of my actions, but that doesn’t change the past.”

The rest of the car is dead silent. 

“So, without any further rambling, let me tell you about the one other duty I had as Court Seer . . .”

* * *

“Um sir?”

Indrid doesn’t respond, instead waving his lower left arm in the general direction of where the page’s voice warbled from. A future concerning the upcoming harvest had made itself known to him not five minutes ago and he wants to collect as much information about the possible yields and optimal times for harvest before the vision is replaced with another. He’ll need to speak with Woodbridge about accessing the records of last years yields and possibly getting more-

And then without warning the vision disappears. The fields that may flood, the possible pests that will eat at the crops, the amount they will need to stockpile- All gone. Replaced with the vision of some page alerting him that he might be late to a hearing that Indrid already knows the outcome to.

He sighs, crumples up his drawing and tosses it to the floor. None of the guards stationed around the room flinch. “The hearing will begin soon and my presence is needed, yes?” Indrid states, not bothering to look over to where the page is standing frozen in the doorway. Another future presents itself, this one of the page insisting that Indrid come with him to the Council chambers so they won’t be late. This one almost makes Indrid laugh as he stands up and begins to put on his ceremonial robes. “You know,” he starts, addressing his guards more than the page “I wish that one of these days, I’ll see a future that lets me know how many times I’ll be forced to repeat to the Ministers that I have never been late to one of these pointless hearings and I never _ will _be late. Honestly it's almost-” he pauses to slip his wings through the holes on the back of the robes. Always the trickiest bit. “-Insulting.”

But then he turns to the page, smiling as he says, “But none of that is your fault is it?”

The page’s eyes are wide and Indrid vaguely wonders if Janelle has a point about his smile being more threatening than comforting. Eventually, the page does shake his head hesitantly and begins to open his mouth but Indrid beats him to it.

“Yes, yes, you’re very sorry, just following orders, I know.” Indrid says, saving him the trouble. “Like I said, not your fault. Now could you please run along and let Minister Woolbridge know that I will be on time and that my answer will be yes as will his and all the other ministers’.”

With a meek, “Of course, sir,” the page runs off, but Indrid already knows that he won’t pass on the second part of his message. They never do. Honestly, if it were not for the insistence of the ministers, he would do away with these hearings all together. They are mere pointless exercises in testing Indrid’s patience. He knows how all of them will end and yet . . .

With a sigh, Indrid nods and like pieces of a well oiled machine, his guards march into place around him. 

As they walk down the meandering halls of the castle, Indrid does laugh a quiet laugh at the memory of his ‘teenage rebellious phase’ as Vincent liked to call it. He had openly detested his bodyguards back then and had, well it wasn’t very couth of him, but he had flown right out of the circle of guards and into the skies. How could he blamed if his none of his guards had the capability of flight?

Well, Indrid knows exactly how he could blamed because he certainly had been. According to The Interpreter, the sight of the Court Seer loop-de-looping through the skies above the city was ‘Unbecoming of a member of the court’ and ‘dangerous’ and ‘banned.”

A small thought flits through his mind that he hasn’t flown since that day but it is quickly washed away as he enters the Council Chambers to the sight of Vincent looking down at him, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You are cutting it very close,” Vincent says as Indrid ascends to his podium.

He doesn’t have to even glance at the clock before he says knowingly, “I still have a minute and thirty seconds before the hearing starts, so as always,” He sits down, smiling. “I’m not late.”

Vicenet grumbles something out and from her own podium, Janelle holds out her hand and with little ceremony, Vincent tosses six gold pieces into her waiting palm as she doesn’t even look up from the tome she’s reading.

From the highest podium, The Interpreter sighs but says nothing of his court member’s actions.

And although Indrid knew that would happen, he still pretends to looked shocked as he says, “For shame minister. As if I would ever disrespect this extremely important and-”

“Pointless?” Woolbridge interrupts, his arms crossed and gaze steely. “The page told us.”

This draws a genuine laugh out of Indrid as did most things that could still surprise him. “You all know my feelings on these things. I could just tell you the ruling now and save us all the time.”

With or without the power of clairvoyance, Indrid could see the little twitch of Woolbridge’s eyebrow and the little huff he lets out a mile away. If he still had blood, Woodbridge’s vessels would be popping in his neck. “Yes, you’ve made that quite apparent. But tradition still stands and so these hearings will continue.” He breathes and adds on, far quieter this time, “No matter how much we would _ all _ rather be doing other things. Understand?”

Instead of replying, Indrid remains silent, only nodding off towards the grand clock at the perfect moment so that when Woolbridge looked at it, it would read exactly 4:00:01.

The exasperated sigh he lets out this time is louder, but is also cut off by the loud groan of the massive double doors of the chamber opening up.

Well, let's get this over with.

Indrid doesn’t even bother looking up from his sketchbook when the sylph gets brought in, hands bound behind his back in heavy iron chains. At least the ministers have some chance to be surprised by the proceedings, he has the misfortune of already knowing the outcome. 

How _ dull_.

He states his name with a steady voice, which Indrid appreciates. He hates when they cry. Even though he always knows it coming, it still doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable.

His accused crime, attacking a shopkeeper, is said with a bit more of a tremble to his voice and the futures where the man breaks down multiply.

“And how do you plead?” Vincent asks and Indrid can tell he’s bored with this too, barely containing the yawn that in other futures seeps out. To entertain himself just a little, Indrid studies the smudge of charcoal that had gotten onto his robes, trying to see if he could make a shape out of it. A flower maybe? Perhaps a star? Or if he twists his head to the left he can get it to look like a bird. And-

“Guilty,” the word comes out at barely a whisper but Indrid knew it was coming anyways so straining to hear it wasn’t necessary. The Interpreter stifles a yawn.

Now this would usually be the part where the Court asks questions of the accused to ascertain their guilt, but with a confession, they can thankfully just skip that part.

“Alright then,” Janelle says, taking a moment to glance up from her book. “All in favor off banishment to Earth, say aye.”

Indrid continues sketching as he hears the prisoners breathing get heavy. 

“But what about-”

“Aye.”

“Wait no-”

“Aye.”

“Let me explain-”

“Aye.”

“Listen to me!”

There’s a slight crinkle as Indrid goes to erase a stray mark on his page. “Aye”.

And as the prisoner is dragged out, crying and pleading, Indrid stands up, stretches his wings and starts walking back to his room where he shall continue foreseeing the fate of Sylvain until his eyes hurt and his fingers are sore and the guard around him has been changed out half a dozen times.

But before he does, he takes one look at the clock and smiles, happy in the knowledge that this pointless affair didn’t take up too much of his afternoon.

The time is 4:01:45 and Indrid doesn’t see a single problem with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the first flashback, the one of Indrid as a kid, is inspired by one of the first posts I made on my blog about how if Indrid started being a court seer as a little kid, trying to decipher his drawings might've been a challange.
> 
> This fic is a lot of fun to write cause I really like exploring the space of what Sylvain is like. I don't think it's ever been said that the ministers are responsible for banishing people, but this fic is super non canon compliant so its all good.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting!


	3. A Gracious Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After many years of service to the court, Indrid finally reaches his breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know its been a HOT minute since I updated this but over the past few days I've been blesses with both the time, energy and creativity to finish this entire fic. Don't ask me how because I honestly don't know how I managed it. Anyways, enjoy!

Indrid wishes there was silence.

He wishes it was deafening too.

If it were, then he wouldn’t have to hear Dani’s slight intake of breath as she begins to speak. Not the smack of her lips as she closes her mouth once again. The tapping of Aubrey’s fingers against the leather seats would be gone as would the insistent clicking of Ned’s indicator as he waits too long at a stop sign.

Out of everyone, Duck makes no sound at all.

Somehow that hurts more.

“Why?” Dani finally asks, voice quiet but not soft. “Why would you do that to your own people? How . . . How could you not even care?”

Indrid saw these questions coming, no future vision needed, and yet he still feels unprepared. “To be quite honest, I didn’t care because I didn’t want to care. It made it easier I suppose.” He glances to Ned. “You can go.”

“Oh what- Ah. Sorry friend.”

With that, the Lincoln and the story continue on.

“I was seven when I attended my first trial, or well-” He laughs. It’s not funny though. It’s not funny at all. “I attended  _ part _ of a trial at the age of seven. The guards had to remove me because I wouldn’t stop crying. I wouldn't attend another til I was nine”

Aubrey stops tapping her fingers. “They made a little kid go to a trial?”

“Yes. They did. If it makes you feel better, they waited til I was twelve to have me actually rule in the trials.”

In the backseat, Duck shifts. “‘Drid, that’s still too young, no kid should have that much pressure of ‘em.”

Duck is right. Indrid knows he’s right. But for a reason he can’t quite place, he doesn’t want to admit it. To say that he’s right, that Indrid’s life was filled with things that no child should endure, it would make them real. Make them worse. However, if he just goes on pretending that this was normal, then there’s no reason to be upset.

He’s still upset.

But he can pretend he’s not.

“Well that wasn’t the opinion of the court and overtime, I began to share that opinion. I- Well I distanced myself from the proceedings, it eased the pain. It was only later, far later at the end of my tenure, did I realise the true weight of what we were doing. What I was doing. We didn’t know about the springs nor the other natural sources of magic that Sylphs banished to Earth could use.” He pauses as they pass over a bridge, the water reflecting the moonlight. On any other night it might be beautiful. “We were sentencing them to death, we just did not want to admit it. And not a day goes by where I do not regret my actions, and yet I still understand that I cannot undo the hurt I caused.”

“Indrid,” Dani starts, voice low. When he looks in the rearview mirror, her gaze is out the window and up into the stars. “I’m not going to pretend that what you did was okay. You and the other ministers and the Interpreter- You all tore families apart, made us fear that any day we or someone we loved would be banished. I still remember the day- The day I was banished.” Next to her, Aubrey rubs soothing circles on Dani’s hand. “It was terrifying. Looking up, seeing the ministers looming over me. I didn’t even . . . They wouldn’t even let me say goodbye. I thought I was going to die.”

Moths physically cannot cry. 

Indrid however, is not a moth, no matter what his name may imply.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers out, barely audible over the rumble of the engine.

“And I’m not- well I’m not gonna say that you’re without guilt, but here’s the thing, you were hurt by all this. I mean, they made a kid essentially sentence people to death. They trained you to not care about the sylphs you were hurting, and yeah, for a while you didn’t, but you still managed to realise that what you were doing was wrong.” Finally, Dani shifts and meets Indrid’s gaze in the mirror. He expected to maybe see anger. Instead, there is pain, which Indrid cannot fault her for, but there’s also soft sort of empathy hard to put into words- An empathy that Indrid himself lacked as he looked down at those he judged. But Dani isn’t judging him. She’s better than that.

Indrid tries to clear his throat before he speaks, but finds it more difficult than expected. “I- Ah . . . Thank you.”

Dani nods and for the first time since they started driving, she smiles. 

“You still doin’ good darlin?” Duck asks and now Indrid is partly regretting not sitting next to him. “Can’t imagine this is all easy to talk ‘bout it.”

“Yes, I’m fine now. I want to continue. This is where, well this is where thing started to go wrong if I’m being quite honest.”

* * *

“Janelle, if you don’t mind my asking, how do you manage to always get the eyes perfect on your disguise charms?”

For the last quarter of an hour, Indrid, the ministers, and The Interpreter have been sat in the Council Chambers, waiting for a page to fetch records concerning the current estimates of damage that the Quell has done to the surrounding lands. And if Woodbridge is allowed to start blathering to Vincent and The Interpreter about the guard rotations, Indrid’s going to chat with Janelle.

For a moment, she doesn’t respond, too invested in her current book. Then, she glances up with a quiet, “What was that now?”

“The eyes on your disguise charms? How do you get them to look so human?”

“Hmm? Oh yes, it’s honestly just practice. You have to work with your magic to ensure that they ‘dilate’ and all that. For the first few years, all the charms I made either never dilated or would do it at random, which is apparently alarming to humans.”

“What actually makes their eyes do that?”

“Apparently it is exposure to light.”

Indrid ponders that a moment. “Humans are so odd.”

“Indeed.”

And before Janelle can go back to reading, Indrid is quick to ask, “Also, I’ve been having troubles with the arm situation,” He pauses and waves his lower set of hands. “My disguise charms always have issues with them, it seems to get confused on which arm should be controlling the human arm.”

“Oh, that’s an easy fix. Whenever you are constructing your charm, simply map one of the sets of arms to a different body part, say the ears for example. It takes some getting used to, but the results are well worth it.”

“Ah, perfect thank you so much Janelle. I’ll have to try that when I next get the chance as my current attempts are-”

“What did you say?”

Indrid pauses at The Interpreter’s interruption. When he glances over at him, he sees how narrowed The Interpreter’s eyes are, how tightly he grips his quill. To say Indrid didn’t see this sudden anger coming is an understatement. “Sorry? What?”

He sets down the quill before it snaps. “Did you say that you make your own disguise charms?”

“Ah- Yes.” He glances to Janelle who just minutely shrugs. “It’s a hobby of mine. A good way to practice my magic, I could make one that resembles yourself if you’re so inclined.” 

Indrid laughs.

The Interpreter does not.

“And how, praytell, do you have time for this? Your duty is first and foremost to Sylvain as Her seer. We need you to focus on your visions. You’re not shirking your duties, are you?”

Tilting his head, Indrid takes a moment to process in The Interpreter’s words to ensure he’s not joking. He’s not. “No, per my last explanation of my foresight, the majority of what I see is trivial matters- What someone may eat for breakfast, if a guard is more likely to turn left or right, things of that ilk. I cannot control what I see and most of the things of import are few and far between. Meaning that I do in fact have time for hobbies, unless you would have me sitting around all day waiting for a new vision to appear, hmm?”

“Yes. That would be preferable.”

The room goes silent, the minister's glancing between Indrid and The Interpreter as they stare each other down. By Sylvain, if he didn’t have his position, Indrid would have told off The Interpreter long ago. Honestly, its like he thinks that Indrid is some vision gachapon, doing nothing but eagerly awaiting someone to come by and request a glimpse into the future. 

It’s insulting.

It’s demeaning.

It’s-

Without warning, the chamber doors fly open, the page tumbling in, breath heavy and eyes wide.

Immediately, Vincent gets to his feet and rushes over. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s-” he gulps in another breath. “It’s the southeast quadrant of the city. It’s completely flooded. The damn- It broke.”

Gasps echo around the room, and Indrid is left in stunned silence.

“No that- That cannot be right. My visions, they didn’t . . .” He falters, feeling the weight of everyone in the room staring at him their gazes conveying without words what they are all thinking.

_ How could you let this happen? _

And Indrid doesn’t have an answer.

He has nothing at all.

* * *

“I’ve heard of that flood,” Dani comments from the backseat. “A lot of people lost their homes, their jobs.” However, at Indrid’s sigh, Dani is quick to add on. “But I also heard it was a freak accident. No one could-”

“Could have seen it coming?” He finishes for her. Then, he turns in his seat and gestures to his face.

“Oh.”

“Yes. But don’t worry, I came to terms long ago that the flooding wasn’t my fault.”

He doesn’t mention that ‘long ago’ was in fact about a year ago. It doesn’t seem like it will brighten the already dim mood.

“So you’re magic . . .” Aubrey starts, looking like she wants to flick the fire between her fingertips. However, the leather seats and probably the distinct memory of what happened last time she attempted that in a moving vehicle stops her. “It just- stopped working? Can that happen? Will that happen? Cause I know you always say Duck that you’re just a regular guy fighting monsters, but at least you, you know, have a sword. Like I’m not fighting bom-boms with a cool jacket, Dr. Harris Bonkers, and some playing cards.”

“And an awesome girlfriend.” Dani adds on.

“Yes, and an awesome girlfriend.”

“That’s the curious thing, it didn’t stop working. My visions came to me as they had done and continue to do so. I suppose Sylvain works in mysterious ways and all that.”

Now while Indrid may have future sight, he certainly doesn’t have the power to read minds. So he can only imagine what the others are thinking. Maybe they’re realising that they could get in a car crash the very next second and Indrid might never see it coming, or that maybe Indrid’s attempts to stop the future might cause that future to happen. 

Or maybe that’s all the worries flitting through his own mind getting reflected right back at him.

He doesn’t get the chance to go down that rabbit hole further though, as Ned clears his throat and glances over to him. “Not to interrupt this anything, I know how important it can be to ah, hash things out, however, we are here.” With that he points to the apartment complex. Huh. Indrid hadn’t even noticed. “However, if need me to, I can most certainly drive around the block a few more times. No problem!”

“What do ya wanna do ‘Drid? We can head on in or stay in the car, whichever you’re feelin’?”

“As much as I’ve enjoyed this car ride, I think going inside would be best. Besides, I really do need to take off these bowling shoes.”

With that, his friends laugh and he graciously accepts the playful ribbing of “Why in the world are you still wearing those?” and “Aw hell now Ms. Johnson’s gonna come knocking at out door looking’ for those shoes!” It’s a welcome distraction from the part of the story yet to come. 

The five of them make their way up to Duck’s apartment, each of them greeting Ella as she sprawls out on the couch. Indrid doesn’t need future-vision to know that she’s going to purring in his lap before his story is done. It’ll be comforting to have something to ground himself with.

Duck works at getting them all drinks, and when he comes over to Indrid with a glass of fruit punch, he leans down when no one’s looking and whispers, “Hey, let me know if ya need anythin’, know this can’t be easy to talk ‘bout.”

Glancing up, Indrid smiles- not his smile that he uses around most humans to not frighten them- but his real, wide smile that he knows Duck loves. “Thank you. I will.”

“So, as I was saying before,” Indrid continues. “The southeastern section of the city flooded. The damage was severe as were the casualties. Many sylphs were desperate and started stealing to survive. Many were subsequently caught and brought to trial. And it was then, as I was asked to pass judgement on those simply trying to survive that I began to realise how wrong we were- how wrong  _ I _ was for doing this. So I started to vote no on their banishments.”

Ned strokes his beard as Indrid speaks. “Do I follow that voting no on banishments was ah, something frowned upon among those hoity-toities in the castle.”

Laughing, Indrid imagines for a second Woodbridge’s reaction at being called hoity-toity. “Indeed, it simply wasn’t done. It started to cause tension amongst the court, to say the least.”

“So was that the reason you left?” Aubrey asks. “Because of that?”

“No. Was it a part of the problem? Yes. But the main reason . . . Well it started with a dinner to be honest.”

* * *

“So as I was saying, as Sylvain’s most loyal and humble servant, I will most certainly further ration out my intake of Sylvain’s illustrious and lumiant light-”

At the end of the table, Indrid doesn’t even bother looking up at Woodbridge’s blathering to The Interpreter. Instead, he continues to move his food back and forth across his plate, not eating a single bite. Not that he needs to eat. None of them really need to, Woodbridge especially, but The Interpreter likes it. Or at least, he likes having his court together for a meal. Says its good for bonding.

Maybe they could do with a little bonding funnily enough.

Ever since . . . Well ever since the flood, Indrid can’t help but feel like the others blame him. He certainly does. Maybe there was a vision he missed. Maybe there was a night where if he had only put off sleep for a few more minutes and then a few more after that, he could have foreseen the damn breaking. Maybe Indrid could have stopped it all. 

He didn’t though.

His one job.

And he failed.

In his heart, Indrid knows there is no way to fix what happened. He can only continue forth in his duties, doing his best to not fail again. So as he rearranges his food, one of his arms is constantly sketching across his sheets of parchment. Never stopping. If another disaster is going to strike, he’s going to catch it. Even if it means drawing even the most mundane scenes, like the one in front of him now. The Interpreter sits at the head of the table, as always, sipping at his wine as he listens to Woodbridge drone on to his left. Meanwhile, Janelle has stashed away her books while she eats, occasionally slipping in and out of the conversation. Next to her, Vincent is also pushing his food across his plate but from experience, Indrid knows he’s actually planning out new guard routes with his peas. 

“Any progress on mending Sylvain’s heart, Janelle?”

She shakes her head and The Interpreter sighs. “My students and I have tried every solution possible, sir. None have come to fruitiation like we had hoped. Unfortunately, it seems that we simply do not have enough information on Her heart to make any meaningful change.”

“Well then  _ get _ more information.”

“Sir we are trying. It is just- With the state that She is in-”

“I’m well aware of the state Her heart is in,” The Interpreter raises his voice just slightly, but the ministers still tense up. “And that state will continue to worsen if we do not do something!”

And then, right as a pea begins to roll off the table and The Interpreter’s wine starts sloshing out of his glass, does Indrid get an idea. An idea which sprouts and grows and brings with a multitude of new futures that Indrid does not even bother looking at because if he does not voice this idea right now, voice a way for him to redeem himself, he won’t be able to continue.

“What if I went to Earth?”

The room goes silent.

The pea drops to the floor.

The wine stains the tablecloth.

Even the guards around the room stare.

“What?” Vincent starts, his food battle plans all forgotten. “What do you mean?”

Indrid sets down his sketchbook, needing all four arms to convey this. “Well Earth must be akin to Sylvain, correct? She must also have a heart which sustains her people. And from our knowledge, Her heart is not broken. So if I were to travel to Earth, just for a few days mind you, I might be able to gather information on Earth’s heart that could be used to heal Sylvain’s. With my future sight, I could cover far more ground before I would need to return than anyone else could. I may be able to save Sylvain yet!”

As he finishes, Indrid finally glances to the other end of the table where The Interpreter sits and instead of finding a face full of hope or curiousity, all he sees is a furrowed brow, a curled lip and a knuckle-white grip on his goblet. 

“I cannot believe you.”

Indrid falters. “What?”

“The lengths you will go to avoid your duties is astounding,” The Interpreter snarls. “How can you be so  _ selfish _ ?”

And this- This moment right there as Indrid feels like he’s struck across the face, does The Court Seer of Sylvain snap.

“Selfish?” He whispers. “You think I’m selfish? I’m offering to travel to a hostile alien world to save our own, and yet I’m selfish?” He glances around at Janelle and Vincent, looking for any sign that they disagree. However, as they divert their gaze, he gets all the answer he needs and it sends white hot anger coursing through him. “I am not  _ selfish _ ! I have given  _ everything _ to Sylvain!”

“And yet it’s still not enough.”

His heart begins to pound against his chest, breath heavy. “What more could you possibly want from me? What more could I possibly give?”

“I need you to do your job,” The Interpreter retorts, the blood vessels on his neck beginning to bulge. “I need you to actually give an ounce of attention to your visions so that when disaster strikes, we are prepared. If you actually were, then maybe we could have prevented the flooding! Instead, you insist on being a  _ selfish brat _ who only cares about himself and can’t even get your own visions right!”

“Oh so their  _ my _ visions now, are they? I thought they were Sylvain’s visions? Seems unfair, hmm?” He smiles, wide and terrifying. “If She gets the accolades when the visions are correct, it only follows that She receives the blame when they’re wrong. So, if you wish to sit here and point fingers over whose fault the flooding was, how about you walk on out there and tell Sylvain that she's the one who fucked up, not me!”

The Minister’s all gasp.

Indrid’s breath is ragged.

He hadn’t even realised he was standing, nor that his wings are out to either side of him. And it’s then, as he looms over the table and the ministers and The Interpreter and the guards, does the realization cross the room that when Indrid is not hunched over his sketchpad, he stands a towering nine feet tall.

Maybe there’s a reason The Interpreter avoids filling his court with the Beastfolk.

“Guards,” The Interpreter calls, voice too calm and even. “Please escort Court Seer Cold back to his room. He’s had enough for the night.”

Wordlessly, the guards around the room march over to Indrid, but he refuses to have the final indignity of being dragged out. So instead, he pushes his chair back, straightens out his robes, and allows the guards to fall in place around him. Besides the clink of armor, the room remains silent. Or atleast, it was silent up until Indrid passes through the door and he just barely hears The Interpreter say, “I truly wish Sylvain had chosen anyone else to be Her seer.”

And Indrid almost laughs, because despite all the differences between himself and The Interpreter, at least they agree on one thing.

Later, much later in the night when the candles have already burned down halfway and Indrid has already decided that sleep is out of the question, a future presents itself of Vincent and Janelle coming to knock on his door. 

He sighs.

So now they wish to speak?

“Come in,” he calls before they even have the chance to knock. He knows many find it alarming, but Janelle and Vincent have gotten used to it.

Slowly, the large wooden door creaks open and he doesn’t have to look to know that Janelle is most certainly making a face about the state of his room. “Hello Cold. How are you?”

“As well as I can be I suppose.” Indrid finally turns and sees Janelle and Vincent both carefully trying to step over the scattered papers on the floor. 

“We just uh, we wanted to come speak to you after what happened at dinner.” Vincent explains, nodding to the guards stationed around the room as he does. “Things got, well a little heated so to speak.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Janelle sighs. “Cold, I know that you and The Interpreter have your differences in opinion, however, you have to understand that he’s under a lot of stress at the moment.”

“Oh and please do explain how this is different than the rest of us, hmm? Are we not all always under a lot of stress? Yet I don’t see the rest of you going around calling me a selfish brat. Wonder why that could be?” Indrid crosses the room as he speaks, tearing down drawings tacked to the wall as he goes. “Maybe because The Interpreter does not and has never respected me. He still sees me as the child I was when I was brought here.”

“That’s not true,” Vincent counters, but there’s not much conviction behind it. “The Interpreter does respect you.”

“No, he  _ needs _ me. There’s a rather big difference.”

The room settles into an uneasy silence.

This time, neither Janelle or Vincent argue.

“Let me ask you,” Indrid starts although he already knows the answer. “If either one of you wanted to depart from the court, could you?”

“Yes, of course. Minister Knox before me retired, as did Minister Hexel if I’m not mistaken.”

Vincent nods “Hexel did retire, has a nice cottage up in the hills now I believe.”

Indrid remembers those days vividly. The halls of the castle had been filled with his wails as he begged Miss Hexel and Mister Knox not to leave him. However, that behavior was quickly curbed as it was ‘unbecoming of a court seer’ no matter if he was a child or not.

“Well could I? Could I leave the court? Pack my bags and live out the rest of my days in some cottage in the hills?”

Janelle’s eyes narrow as she looks at him. “But you wouldn’t want to-”

“That’s not the point. What I am asking is that if I wanted to no longer be the Court Seer, could I?” He pauses and takes in a breath. “Would  _ he _ let me?”

Vincent and Janelle go silent.

It’s all the answer Indrid needs.

* * *

A low whistle fills the room.

“Damn.”

Indrid nods. “Damn indeed.”

“So had no seer really never left the position, ‘fore you?” Duck asks as he puts a comforting arm around Indrid’s shoulder. Without even thinking, Indrid leans into the touch.

“To my knowledge, no. To their dying days, all my predecessors served the Court without pause. Had I not left, I would still be there now.”

Or if his escape attempt had not been successful . . . 

There were so many ways it could have gone wrong . . .

What would have The Interpreter done to him if he had been caught . . .

Well he doesn’t have to imagine, he had the misfortune of seeing those futures when he made his escape.

But he’s getting ahead of himself again.

“That sounds terrible Indrid, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Aubrey offers him a smile. “And you know, thanks for telling us all this. I think it can be really helpful to talk about these experiences. Closing yourself off to what happened can also close yourself off from healing.”

Indrid smiles back, knowing that these are the things that Aubrey learned through her time in therapy. He’s glad she’s using the experience to help others as well. “Thank you, Aubrey.”

“Now dear Indrid,” Ned begins, tenting his fingers in thought. “would you like us to ah, give the minsiters a _ talking to _ because I’m certainly up to the idea.”

“No, no, that’s fine. I don’t even think they truly realised how trapped I was. To be fair, I barely realised how trapped I was until the end. And to say that they couldn’t stand up to The Interpreter is ah, how do you say, an understatement. He had complete and utter control, yet I can’t even say that he realised what he had become. Everything he did, he thought he was in the right, that he was doing it for the good of Sylvain.”

“Yes but intent doesn’t change effect.” Ned glances down at the water ring left from his glass. “Just because you did not mean to hurt others does not change the fact that you did.”

Pausing, Indrid decides not to look to far into that statement. “Indeed. Now, I feel like I’ve danced around the subject enough, so let me explain when I actually decided to run away to Earth, hmm?”

* * *

It’s been three days since the argument at dinner and so far, Indrid has been entirely successful at avoiding The Interpreter. 

Or maybe The Interpreter has been successful in avoiding him.

He doesn’t care, just that he doesn’t have to see The Interpreter’s face, feel his judgement hot on the back of Indrid’s neck. Janelle and Vincent specifically avoid talking about that night either when the three of them go down to the Crystal Garden’s together, as if not talking about it will make it go away. 

Silently, Indrid sits on his bed and writes out his reports for the day. They’re less detailed than usual and it brings him some small amount of satisfaction. If The Interpreter wants to know more, maybe he could look at Indrid’s drawings. He won’t, but he could.

However, as he draws, the vision he was sketching vanishes, replaced by . . .

Immediately, Indrid stands up from the bed and strides over to the door just in time to open it before The Interpreter knocks.

They both stare at one another. 

“Ah, hello Court Seer Cold.”

“Yes, good morning.”

They continue to stare.

“Well you’re going to invite me in, aren’t you?”

Huh. Polite of him to phrase it as a question. 

Wordlessly, Indrid steps aside and lets The Interpreter into his room. He doesn’t fail to notice how the Interpreter quietly tuts and moves aside the papers on the floor with the tip of his shoe. One of the guards quietly shuts the door behind him.

“So,” Indrid starts, never taking his eyes off The Interpreter. “How can I help you?”

“Actually, I came with a gift.”

He pauses, suddenly scrambling through his visions to see what the gift is. However, all he receives are the breakfast orders of the staff and the possibility of a bird perching on his window.  _ So helpful.  _ “For me?”

Laughing, The Interpreter nods and pulls out a small parcel from his pocket. Although he holds it out for Indrid to take, he doesn’t. “Of course for you Cold.”

“Why?”

Another laugh, this time more forced. “Because you’re my Court Seer. Is it a crime to show my appreciation with a gift? Now,” he steps forward, gift still held out. “Open it.”

This time, no one could mistake this as anything other than a demand. And so, carefully, Indrid takes the box, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand, and opens it.

The world freezes.

“What . . .” Indrid barely manages to get out. “What is this?”

For sitting in the box, so innocently, is an orange crystal attached to a large black necklace.

“It's a shard of Sylvain, of course.”

And it is. Indrid knows it is. But wishes he was wrong. 

“Why?”

The Interpreter smiles and Indrid has to wonder if that’s what his own smile looks like when Janelle tells him he’s scaring the children. By Sylvain herself he hopes not. “Well I know how busy you must be with your duties as Court Seer, and so with this, you won’t have to waste any time journeying down to the Crystal Garden’s to touch Her heart. With this on, you’ll have all the energy you need. You can stay up here, nothing to distract you.”

Indrid opens his mouth to speak.

Nothing comes out.

“In fact, I’ve thought about your objections to the trials, and I’ve decided that you no longer need to attend them since you find them so off putting.”

A nightmare.

This has to be a nightmare.

“Well,” The Interpreter nods. “Put it on, hmm? See if it fits.”

Indrid wants to protest. Wants to tell the Interpreter he enjoys the visits to the Crystal Gardens with Janelle and Vincent. To say that he wanted the banishments to stop all together, not to just be allowed to not participate. He wants to say so much, but for once, his future vision lets him know exactly how each one of those wants would go if brought to life. Each of them putting Indrid right back here as he silently takes the necklace from its box and slides it over his antenna and around his neck.

The Interpreter beams with pride.

Indrid wants to vomit. 

“There. It’s perfect. Don’t you agree, Cold?”

He nods like he’s in a trance. He very well might be.

However, The Interpreter then coughs, giving Indrid a pointed look.

“Thank you, sir.”

Another look, this time with a glance towards the ground.

_ Ah. _

And so, Indrid bends in a deep bow, the necklace dangling in front of his face. Taunting him. 

“Good. Now, I must be going. Have a good day Court Seer. Enjoy your gift. You deserve it.”

With that, Indrid is left standing in the middle of his room, surrounded by drawings no one will ever see, chained by a necklace no bigger than his thumb. All those long years tirelessly working for the Court, for Sylvain, and this is his reward? To be trapped in his room churning out futures day and night? Is this what Sylvain wanted for him? He didn’t ask to be a seer. He didn’t ask for his parents to ship him away to the castle at the first sign of his visions. What could he have done to deserve this? Is this his destiny?

With a shuddering breath, Indrid closes his eyes and lets the futures wash over him. However, this time he has something specific in mind- He wants to see all his own futures.

The first is of him in his room.

The second is of him, again, in his room.

And the third.

And the fourth.

And . . .

And all of them.

That’s his future.

To sit in this room and look towards the future. 

What a terrible twist of fate, to be someone with such a clear look into the future yet having no future of his own.

And so, heart filled with rage and grief and betrayal, Indrid beats his wings once, sending the papers around the room flying into the air and then slowly drifting down around him- A storm with himself as the eye. 

There’s no way out. If he tried to go to the city, the guards would find him. And if he attempted to venture outside the walls of Sylvain, he would surely die. There’s nowhere to go . . . No place to . . .

Unless . . .

He glances down at the paper that had just fallen at his feet- a clear drawing of the archway sketched out on it.

. . . Unless he travelled to Earth. 

And then Indrid looks down at his new necklace and smiles.

Maybe he does truly deserve this gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've hard parts of this dialogue written out for months, yet I just kept getting sidetracked with other projects, so I'm really glad I was able to get this out before I started on my next big thing! Hope you all enjoyed and I hope you enjoy the next chapter too as I'm posting that at the same time as this one!


	4. A Weight Too Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Indrid cannot change the past, he can change the future.

“Holy shit so that’s how you got that necklace?” Aubrey points down at where the shard of sylvain hangs around his neck. “Like, that’s both terrible and kinda badass? I mean, not the part where your boss tried to trap you in your room forever. That’s absolutely terrible. But like, using the thing meant to keep you trapped and turning it into something to help you escape, that’s amazing!”

“Bet The Interpreter really regretted giving you that after you made your daring escape!” Ned laughs and Indrid finds it infectious.

“Yes, I imagine he did.” He reaches up and runs a thumb across its surface. “Without it, I could have never crossed over to Earth.”

From her end of the couch, Dani taps her fingers against her glass as she looks at his pendant. “Do you think The Interpreter ever even considered that you’d cross over? I mean, it’s not like sylphs were really coming to Earth willingly, but still that’s a pretty powerful thing he just gave to you.”

“To be honest, I don’t think it ever even crossed his mind. For one of his own court members to run away, it would be unthinkable to him, I suppose. His word was law in that his word was Sylvain’s word, and so he thought none of us would ever truly go against him. I just- Well I just could not take it any longer. Besides, I was surrounded by guards every moment of my life, making any escape attempt extremely difficult to say the least.”

“So how’d do it then?” Duck asks. “I mean, I had trouble sneakin’ outta of my own house when I was a teen and all I had to get by was my mom and maybe Jane if she was feelin’ up to snitchin’. Can’t imagine getting out of a castle chock full of guards was an easy task?”

He shakes his head. “Easy is certainly not a word I would use to describe it. Trying to plan my escape wasn’t too difficult, the guards were used to me constantly sketching, they just didn’t realize I was sketching my escape.” Pausing for a moment, he laughs. If only The Interpreter had been more interested in seeing his drawings, them maybe he would have known what was coming. “However, I had to wait til the perfect night to execute my plan. It took months, but finally, I was-” He was about to say ‘ready’ but he wasn’t. Not really. Even after all he had gone through, the thought of leaving his home had terrified him to his core. But it had to be done. “Well I was ready as I was ever going to be, shall we say. And so, I put my plan into motion.”

* * *

Night and quiet blanketed the castle, letting a calm warmth seep through its stone. From Indrid’s visions, he could see that Janelle was transcribing an old book in her study, Woodbridge was seeking out Vincent who was writing out the guard rotations for the next fortnight. Finally, The Interpreter was dining alone.

They’re all in the east wing of the castle.

Perfect.

Taking a deep breath, Indrid considers for the last time whether he should actually do this or not. If he fails, then he’ll have to deal with The Interpreter’s wrath, whatever form that may come in. If he succeeds, then he’ll be on a hostile alien world where he could easily be killed.

But if he doesn’t try, then he’ll just be here. In his room. Forever.

It’s not really a choice at all.

So, as he sketches out nothing but scribbles, Indrid suddenly sits up with a loud gasp, which draws the attention of the guards around the room. “The Interpreter!” He yells out as he scrambles out of bed. Now, the guards look truly and utterly worried. Good. “The Interpreter! The Ministers! They’re all in danger! Assassins- They’re . . . By Sylvain they’re already in the castle! Go! You need to warn them! To the east wing! Immediately!”

And thankfully, that is all they need before the guards start rushing out of the room, the sound of their armor crashing against the cobblestone breaking the silence into a thousand pieces. However, one guard stays behind, looking nervously between Indrid and the door.

“But- But sir? What about you? I can’t just leave you! What if the assassins come for you?”

Indrid saw this future coming, but hoped it wouldn’t come to pass. He doesn’t have much time. “I’ll be fine! None of my visions show them coming after me! It’s the Interpreter and the ministers they’re after! Now please! Go! If you want to tip the scales of fate, we need every person we can to go protect them! Do you want the Interpreter to die?”

Wide eyed, the guard shakes their head and quickly rushes after their colleagues, shouting behind them, “Please, stay in your room until we return!”

“Of course!” He lies with ease, already rushing over to where he’s been slowly but surely stashing the supplies he’s bringing with him. However, out of everything, the most important and last thing that goes into bag to ensure they don’t get crushed is a pair of bright red, round glasses- A disguise charm already placed on them.

Good thing he had hobbies.

With that, he leaves his room for the last time, not even sparing a glance back at the hours and hours of his life represented in the drawings he leaves there. That’s not his life anymore. Or at least, it won’t be soon. 

As silently as possible, he sneaks through the castle, slipping into empty rooms or darkened hallways whenever more and more guards rush past towards the East wing. He once considered simply flying out his window, but that would have guaranteed being spotted immediately and having a battalion of guards also gifted with flight coming down right on top of him. So if Indrid can’t take to the skies, he’ll go in the opposite direction.

He’ll go underground. 

Finally, Indrid reaches the elevator down to the caverns under the castle. Although it took longer than he was hoping, he’s still pleased that there are no guards stationed here. He can do this. He’s going to do this. Rushing over, Indrid hits the button to call the elevator, trying to both keep a watch around him and keep an eye on the future. 

It’s fine.

It’ll be fine.

He’s going to be fine.

They won’t-

** _No._ **

No no no.

Indrid watches in horror as the futures begin to shift. Instead of staying in the east wing like Indrid though they were going to, the guards are bringing the ministers and The Interpreter somewhere else . . . To the safest part of the castle . . .

They’re coming here.

Why? Just why? Is this Sylvain’s way of telling him that he shouldn't try to leave? To stay and be Her Seer? Or . . . 

Or is this Her way of warning him?

Glancing behind him, Indrid once again hits the button for the elevator. Why did it have to be so slow? Yes he understands its coming from dozens of stories underground, but he’s not in the mood for rational thought at the moment. 

They’re getting closer.

The elevator continues to ascend.

They’re two rooms away.

The elevator slowly lumbers from underground.

They’re outside the chambers.

The elevator still isn’t here.

The chamber doors are opening.

And so are the elevator doors. 

As fast as possible, Indrid darts into the elevator, wasting no time in pressing the button to descend back into Sylvain.

Across the room, a volley of guards enter the room with Janelle, Vincent, Woodbridge, and The Interpreter at the center.

Indrid waves.

They do not.

“Cold?” Vincent calls out. “What are you doing?”

“Oh just seeking safety at Sylvain’s heart,” he yells back, voice almost cracking. Why won’t the doors close?

Janelle levels him a look hard to decipher as the group approaches. “Hold the doors for us, will you?”

“Of course!” He says as he furiously presses the button to close the doors. “Wouldn’t want to leave you all up here with the assassins, now would I?”

They walk closer and closer and the doors remain open.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

They come closer.

All the futures showed him getting away.

And then, so Indrid’s numb horror, the ministers, two guards, and The Interpreter all enter the elevator.

Well fuck him.

“Guard the elevator,” The Interpreter commands. “No one is to come down here until the assassins are apprehended, understand?”

Well, looks like they’re going to be down there for quite some time.

And with that, the elevator doors finally close, leaving the group in silence as they descend into Sylvain.

“Good on you for foreseeing those assassins,” The Interpreter comments and Indrid does his best not to flinch. His bag is hidden in his wing and he can only hope none of them spot it. “Would have been better if we had known earlier, but still. Looks like cutting back your duties worked out quite well.”

Indrid shudders with the effort not to scream.

“Indeed.”

And instead of an unbearable silence that would be oh so fitting, there is unbearable small-talk. Woodbridge discusses how he’s nearly completed his 50,000 piece of puzzle. Vincent comments on how he thinks it might rain soon. Janelle updates them on her student’s progress, she thinks Katilina has real potential. And The Interpreter even admits that he’s considering asking a woman on the education planning committee to dinner soon.

It’s all so normal.

Like all of this is normal.

Like this is just another normal day.

Like they cannot even see how not normal everything is.

Indrid wants to scream.

However, instead of a scream, the elevator is filled with a quiet  _ ding _ as the doors open up to the observation deck of Sylvain’s heart. They all exit the elevator, milling about by the doors as it dawns on them all that they have no idea how long they’ll be down here. The others head over to some benches as they continue to chat, but Indrid doesn’t move. Instead he looks out across the vast expanse of darkness that lies beyond Sylvain’s heart. 

It may not be the best time . . .

But it might be the only time . . .

“Cold,” Vincent calls from the bench. “Why don’t you come sit with us? It might be a while.”

However, Indrid doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn back to look at him either. Instead, he stares straight forward as he asks, voice low and quiet, “Why do you call me that?”

The other’s pause. “Call you what?”

“Cold. Why do you call me Cold?”

The Interpreter laughs, but not the laugh of someone hearing a joke. No. It’s more the laugh of watching someone fall to the ground. “What do you mean? That’s your name.”

“My last name, yes. But not my first. None of you are referred to by your last name, just me.”

“Well you don’t call me by my name at all,” The Interpreter counters. Indrid can only imagine the look on his face as he still refuses to turn around. “You just call me The Interpreter.”

Shaking his head, Indrid lets the silence take the cavern for just a moment. “It’s not the same though, is it? You refuse to let us call you by your name. I didn’t get a choice. You know, I’m not even sure I can even remember the last time anyone ever called me by my first name. Is it because it’s easier for you? To put me under house arrest in my own room if I don’t even have the dignity of a first name?”

Behind him, he hears a quiet murmur of “Interpreter? What is he talking about? What did you do?”

When the Interpreter speaks, it is low and heavy and barely restrained. “Cold, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this behavior is very unbecoming of a Court Seer.”

And then, despite everything, Indrid nearly laughs.

If he thought  _ that _ was unbecoming, Indrid can’t imagine what The Interpreter will think about what he is going to do next. 

“Well,” Indrid starts to say as he unfurls his wings and lets his bag fall into his outstretched hand. Giving one last glance back at the Ministers and The Interpreter, he lets the memories of the good times they had wash over him and offers them a smile “Good thing I’m not the Court Seer anymore, hmm?”

And then he sprints forward, ignoring the panicked screaming for him to stop echoing around the cavern as he goes. The guards try to rush forward to grab him, but Indrid foresaw that they wouldn’t be fast enough. Closer and closer the edge comes until there’s nothing left for Indrid to do but push off from the ground, and jump.

For a few terrifying seconds, Indrid falls instead of flies, his wings trying to remember what to do after so many long years of disuse under The Interpreter’s rules. However, with a few powerful flaps, he starts soaring through the air and into the darkness.

By Sylvain he forgot how much he missed flying.

“Stop him! Someone stop him!” The Interpreter screeches behind him, but already the words are getting quieter and quieter as he races away. 

The other’s join in too with shouts of “Wait!” and “Please come back!” and “Alert the guards!” but Indrid doesn’t care. He won’t let anything stop him now.

It’s only as he’s about to pass the threshold where he wouldn’t be able to hear them anymore, that he hears something that at any other time would have stopped him dead. Far in the distance, he hears The Interpreter shout in sheer desperation, “ ** _Indrid!_ ** ”

But it’s too little too late, and Indrid just pushes on further and faster than before. Trying to keep any thoughts of regret out of his mind. 

He doesn’t know how long he flies for, just that it feels like forever, the light at the end of the tunnel never coming. Now here’s a fun fact about himself: Indrid’s future vision does not work when he is flying, its too much of a distraction and he would surely crash if he could see it.

What this means as that he doesn’t see a giant, fluffy paw come and swipe him out of the air until it’s already far too late.

“No!” He screams as he falls from the air onto Heathcliff’s outstretched paw. He couldn’t come this far just to fail now! He was so close! So close to freedom! Just why!

“Hmmmm,” Heathcliff’s voice echoes around the cavern as he rises to inspect what he’s caught. “My my my, what are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be in your castle Court Seer? Unless . . .” He eyes Indrid’s bag where it has fallen. “Unless you’re running away?”

Sitting up in Heathcliff’s paw, Indrid quickly grabs his bag and checks to make sure his glasses aren’t broken. Luckily, they’re still intact, but it doesn’t go with Heathcliff notice. “Running away? Oh no you misunderstand,” Indrid gets out through his labored breaths. He truly isn’t used to flying. “I’m in fact on a very important mission for the court and must depart at once. So if you don’t mind . . .”

He goes to stand, but stumbles back into Heathcliff’s paw as the massive cat shifts. “An important mission, huh? Well then, you’ll have no problem passing by the guards stationed by the entrance to this cavern. Now if you were, say escaping, you would probably take the unguarded exit over that way.” He points with his other paw. “Cuts up straight through the mountain, looks down on the archway, very unguarded. But~” he drawls out. “You’re on a mission from the court. So there’s no reason to use that one, is there?”

For a moment, Indrid pauses and lets the visions flow over him yet again. And . . . Yes. There! A vision of the guarded entrance and the one currently unguarded. If Heathcliff hadn’t stopped him, he would have flown right into the guards . . .

“Thank you,” He says softly.

“Good luck” Heathcliff smiles at him. “Also can I have your glasses?”

“What? No.” Now he remembers why he doesn’t come down here. “I need these for- For my mission to Earth.”

“Hmmm, alright then.”

Standing up with his bag, Indrid just gives him one last smile, and takes off into the air. He swears he hears a soft, “I’m getting those glasses one day though.”

After that, the journey out of the caverns is easy, aided greatly by Heathcliff’s advice, and Indrid surges out of the mouth of a cave high in the hills overlooking the gate. In the distance, he can hear the faint alarms of the castle and see the far-off figures of the flying battalions rushing towards the gate. He knows he doesn’t have much time left, but he takes one last moment to look out across his home. His family is out there somewhere. What will they think when they find out that Indrid has left? What will the city think? Will they hate him? Will he be known as the Selfish Seer who put his own needs before Sylvain? 

Indrid shakes his head.

He can’t think about that now.

So with that, Indrid once again takes a running start before leaping off the mountainside. This time though, he lets himself fall through the air, gaining more and more speed and he plummets further and further towards the ground, before finally unfurling his wings and racing off towards the gate.

The guards have already seen him.

He doesn’t care.

There are shouts and orders but Indrid ignores them. 

He weaves through the pillars of the pavilion only to see that the guards stationed at the gate have their spears crossed over it in an X.

No matter.

He didn’t come this far just to fail.

So as they stand their ground, Indrid roars in the air towards them, the gusts from his wings sending anything not bolted down flying. He doesn’t stop, close enough to see the unfiltered fear in their eyes, and then, Indrid tucks his wings in at the very last second and launches himself right through their spears and through the portal-

-And onto Earth.

He doesn’t stop flying though, doesn’t trust them not to send guards through to drag him right back. Only when he’s far away from the gate, does he land on the cool sand beneath him.

He . . .

He did it . . .

He actually did it . . .

Indrid is on Earth. 

Under a sky full of strangers and a moon lighting up the dark instead of rings.

It’s beautiful.

And as he puts on his glasses, the world becoming red, he sets off. No destination or direction in mind because for the first time in his life, Indrid Cold is free.

* * *

“And that’s the story of how I ran away to Earth,” Indrid finishes, glancing around at the wide-eyes looks of the others. “I’m sorry I lied to you all about my intentions coming to Earth, but well, it’s not something I’ve been ah, rather comfortable with. Even years after running away, I would still have moments where I would consider going back to Sylvain, begging for forgiveness and a chance to redeem myself. However, I was sincere when I said that I fell in love with Eath and her people. I truly wanted to help them, it just- Well it wasn’t my initial reason for coming here.”

“Indrid,” Dani starts, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No one blames you for leaving, and we certainly don’t think your selfish.”

“Yes of course not, if that’s selfish, when then I think we’d all be selfish!” Ned adds on.

Nodding, Aubrey says, “Yeah wanting to not be miserable isn’t selfish. It’s how we survive.”

The last to speak is Duck, who looks at him just as he looks at him every day, with love and understanding and compassion. “You deserve to be happy Indrid.”

By Sylvain how did Indrid get so lucky. 

However, instead of answering that, Indrid simply smiles and points over to the landline. “That’s about to ring.”

And as everyone looks over just in time for the phone to start going off, it gives Indrid just enough time to swipe a hand under his glasses without the others seeing.

The phone conversation doesn’t last long, Duck only putting in a few “yeps” and “yeses” before saying goodbye. “That was Mama,” he explains as he comes to sit back down. “I’m now realising that we did all just kinda run on outta the bowling alley without really explaining much.

“Whoops.”

“Yeah, but uh, she also mentioned that the other’s feel pretty bad for puttin’ all that pressure on ya Indrid.”

“No, it’s fine,” Indrid says as he waves his hand. “No one knew about my past, and it’s not that I don’t want to deliver news to your families. I truly and honestly would like to deliver anything you all would wish. It’s just . . .”

“Just that you’re not too keen on being locked up in some room or other again to churn out prophecies?” Ned supplies.

“Ah . . . Yes, essentially. I can’t imagine how the others will react to my return, let alone The Interpreter.”

“Would it make you feel better knowing that he’s like, _ super dead? _ ”

Indrid sees his glass shattering on the floor before it even happens, the fruit punch inside spilling out across the hardwood in a million different possibilities that Indrid cannot possibly keep track of. “What?”

Aubrey pauses as she glances between Indrid and the drink. Nobody else in the room speaks. “Uh, yeah. I’m pretty sure he died. Like there was this whole thing, with a vision of me after his funeral, but it wasn’t me, but that’s not important.”

Staring at the glass on the ground and holding on tightly to Ella to make sure she doesn’t step in it, Indrid takes a moment to collect his thoughts. The Interpreter is dead? Actually dead. Did he die in Sylvain’s light? Is he a ghost now? But then . . . “Who is The Interpreter now?”

“Oh some little kid,” Ned chimes in. “His daughter I presume.”

The Interpreter . . . The Interpreter had a child? A child who now has the weight of all of Sylvain’s needs on her shoulders . . .

A weight no child should have to bear.

After a few, good, long moments, Indrid makes a decision.

“I . . . I cannot go immediately, it will take time to, well ah, to prepare myself for being there again, but I think it might be time I made a return visit to Sylvain.”

* * *

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

Indrid takes a breath, straightening out his robes one last time. It’s been years since he’s worn them, but the feeling of rubbing his hands along the sleeves is still a small comfort.

“Indeed.”

Beside him stand Ned, Aubrey, Dani, and Duck, as they make their final preparations to journey over to Sylvain. 

“And remember, we leave no one behind!” Ned says bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Even if we have to fend off Sylvain’s finest, we won’t let them keep you there Indrid! Besides, who would we get to fill out the bowling teams then?”

“Ah of course, the most pertinent reason for my return,” he chuckles lightly. “But yes, I’m hoping it would never come to that.”

It could. But Indrid won’t know if it's a possibility until he crosses over. His future vision is only limited to the planet he is on.

With that, Aubrey and Dani say their goodbyes before Dani turns to Indrid. “I, well I just want to say thank you again Indrid for doing this. It means a lot to everyone at the Lodge.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

However, at this Dani shakes her head. “No, you shouldn’t downplay it. You’re doing a lot for us. I know it can’t be easy going back there.”

He doesn’t reply for a moment, tries to make his breath stop catching in his throat first. “Yes, of course. I’ll see you soon.”

And with that, holding Duck’s hand tightly in his lower left, the four of them cross over to Sylvain and for a few moments, all Indrid can see is a blinding and brilliant light. Slowly but surely though, shapes begin to form in front of him and he finds himself in the same pavilion from all those years ago. 

It hasn’t changed at all.

He can’t tell if that’s better or worse.

As he glances around though, he suddenly hears the distinct clang of a spear clattering to the cobblestone and when he looks over, he sees the two guards stationed here staring at them in pure shock. “You’re . . . You’re the . . .”

“Indrid Cold, the former Court Seer, yes.” Indrid finishes for them, trying to make his smile as welcoming as possible. “Pleasure to meet you. Now, we’re just here for a quick visit, so if you don’t mind us, we’ll be going now.”

One of them opens their mouth to speak, but Indrid is quick to interject.

“Fear not, we won’t be in the city long and the Pine Guard will be accompanying me the entire time.”

The other looks like he would also like to say something, and in four of the futures that are beginning to reappear in Indrid’s mind, he does. However, in the end, he closes his mouth and nods at them to pass.

“Thank you.”

It’s only when they’re far enough way does Aubrey ask, “How you doing, Indrid? Need anything? I brought snacks!”

“For now, I’m quite well. If I foresee that changing, I’ll let you all know.”

And it’s at that moment as they walk down into the city, that Indrid has to pause as he takes in the sight in front of him. The city of Sylvain rises in all her glory and he nearly tells Aubrey that he’s actually not okay because just . . . Here it is.

The smell is what gets him first, it sends him back to walking around the city as a child with Margaret. He remembers vividly stopping in at the little shops as all the bakers offered little sweet treats to Sylvain’s new court seer and from the looks of it, some of those shops are still open.

The general hustle and bustle of the city also brings him back. He loves Kepler, he truly does, but it’s sometimes just too quiet. But there is a calm to the general thumping against the cobblestone. He didn’t think he would be this nostalgic for a place that took so much from him, and yet here he is . . .

“Alright y’all, seems we’ve been noticed,” Duck whispers as they make their way down the main street. With every step they take, more heads turn their way with wide eyes and open mouths and whispers of “Is that Court Seer?”

Squeezing his hand, Duck again asks, “Still doin’ alright?”

“Less so but I’ll manage.”

Finally, they reach their destination- A large promenade that will serve perfectly for what Indrid intends. “Hello everyone!” He calls out to the gathered crowd. “As you’ve all mostly surmised, yes I am Indrid Cold, the former Court Seer. These brave humans with me are members of the Pine Guard. You may know that they protect against the abominations on the side of Earth, but they also aid those sylphs who have been banished in the past thirty years. I have come with letters from all of them to their families and friends here.”

Gasps echo through the crowd and a few even begin racing off through the city, no doubt to spread the news or tell those who know sylphs that have been banished to make their way to the promenade. The fact that sylphs can survive on Earth is not known on Sylvain and Indrid cannot even begin to look to see how this information will change things here.

So without further ado, Indrid pulls out his bag and all the letters therein, and begins to call out the names of those who the letters are addressed to. Some of them happen to be already in the promenade, others are not. However, for those not present, others in the crowd call out that they know where they live and quickly rush off to deliver the letter.

Soon enough, tears and laughter and a host of emotions too complex to name begin to fill the crowd as they read the words of their loved ones thought long dead. And then, before anyone can even ask, Indrid begins to pull pens and blank pieces of parchment from the many pockets of his robes to hand out to those wanting to write letters back.

Every single sylph writes a letter back.

When Indrid looks, both Aubrey and Duck have tears in their eyes, with Ned trying desperately to pretend he doesn’t, but failing.

Failing miserably.

And as Indrid waits to recollect the letters, he looks out across the crowd and catches the sight of Vincent and Janelle both rushing down the road towards him, the guards fruitlessly trying to keep pace with them adding some humor to an encounter Indrid has been dreading.

“I’ll be right back,” he says to Aubrey, Duck and Ned before he maneuvers through the crowd. As he approaches, Janelle and Vincent slow and eventually come to a stop. Indrid wants to say they look like they’ve seen a ghost, but he knows what they look like when they see a ghost and it’s usually with thinly veiled annoyance. But now? Janelle is covering her mouth with her hand and Vincent keeps opening and shutting his mouth like one of those singing fish Duck hates so much.

“I know, I know,” Indrid starts. “I’ve missed quite a few birthdays.”

“Indrid,” Vincent whispers out on the tail end of a breath. “We thought- Well we thought we’d never see you again.”

“We tried to find you,” Janelle adds on, still looking at Indrid like he will disappear any minute. “We sent out search parties to Earth. We wanted to apologise for the way you had been treated, the way we had treated you.”

“If it makes you feel better, I wouldn’t have returned even if you had found me. In fact, I’m not even staying now. I’ve only come back momentarily, then I shall be returning to Earth.”

Janelle sighs. “I suspected as much.”

“We are sorry though,” Vincent continues as he fiddles with a frayed edge of his sleeves. Guess he still chews on them. “For everything.”

“Yes, I have many regrets over how matters ended with you. If I could go back and change things, I would.”

One of his attena flick and his mandibles click together. “While I appreciate the sentiment, the past cannot be changed. What we do have power over is the future. Before I leave today, we must discuss the banishments and Alexandra.”

Immediately, Janelle’s stance changes. “The Interpreter? What about her?”

“She’s a  _ child. _ A child who has to shoulder the responsibility of guiding our people. I will inform you right now that twenty-years from now, if you don’t want her running off in the night too, you need to do something. If you’re honestly sorry for how things turned out with me, don’t do the same to her.”

Both Vincent and Janelle go silent and Indrid truly thinks that neither of them will say anything, like they always used to. Instead though, Janelle nods. “You’re right. Sylvain may need Alexandra, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s just a child.”

At that, Indrid smiles and spends a moment looking into the future. He sees Duck, Aubrey, and Ned collecting letters. Quite a few futures show up where Janelle, Vincent, Woodbridge, and Alexandra discuss what comes next for Sylvain. There are even a few where he introduces Duck to his family, but not before he gets the biggest hugs possibly from his mother and father. 

Yeah, the future looks bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally, Indrid was going to make it into the elevator just in time before the others got in, but as I reached that scene, I realised it would be way better for them to have The Most awkward elevator ride ever. I had a lot of fun writing this and thank you to those who encouraged me to continue with this! I'm also now very much into Dani and Indrid being friends! Finally, if you look back over all the chapters, no one ever refers to Indrid by his first name when in past scenes. Writing these last two chapters over the past few days definetly got my creative juices flowing again and I'm excited for what's coming next! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly looked up so many videos trying to see where the window buttons would be on Ned's car/ if his car would even have the ability to roll down the windows. I found one that showed them in the center but whether thats accurate for all cars, I have no clue. I'm just a simple gay who knows Nothing About Cars.
> 
> Next chapter will get into Indrid's past and I'm really excited yall!
> 
> (also ill still hopefully be posting the new chapter of spin dry on high this week)


End file.
